


One Day in the Life of Maribel Hearn

by iakrus



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: F/F, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3346814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iakrus/pseuds/iakrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve years after graduation; twelve years of separation; twelve years without her. One day in a life of nothingness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Day in the Life of Maribel Hearn

The insistent beeping of an alarm wakes me.

  
I crack open an eye, squint blearily at the digital display hovering over the night-stand. Seven-thirty, the characters spell out; they're a bit difficult to read against the accidental backdrop of a half-empty glass of water and bottle of sleeping pills. (I don’t dream anymore; the drugs and lengthy psychotherapy sessions have paid off. That’s something I’m glad of, because the dreams were just frightening if you strip away their meagre worth: there is no longer anybody who values them, and there’s no world I would rather escape to. They’re all equally bad. I’d be alone wherever I was.) Time to get up.

  
My body protests as I struggle out of bed and drag my feet to the bathroom. You'd think I'd get used to this after greeting nearly each morning in this manner for the last few years, but apparently not; perhaps my sleeping patterns of forced sleep and forced awakenings are too artificial adapt to at my age. Coffee doesn't help at all (though it did for her); I only drank it out of companionship and for its pleasant taste. The tap switches on, and a sheet of water streams out of a slit - it's cold, and feels good as I splash it across my face; seems like only after these ablutions can I finally feel more alive and fit to face the world yet another day.

  
To be honest, it's a tiring and unrewarding thing, this business of living - the only reason why I continue is because I have not the courage to end it.

  
I've always been a coward.

  
So instead I endure existence and not life; every day is a mechanical matter of eating, sleeping and working, even on the week-ends, because there is always something to be done. Whether it is job- or housekeeping-related is of no consequence - the end result is the same.

  
It's been this way for twelve years already, this living as an empty shell. Feels like longer.

The fabric of the clothes lying in the drawer is still warm and crisp to the touch.

  
It’s so much easier – everything’s so much easier – now, what with technology and all that… I remember having to choose what to wear before; it was mostly a hassle and sometimes something to enjoy. It’d just be an annoyance nowadays, without anybody to appreciate the effort one puts in (not that she really noticed anyway); that’s why I’m particularly grateful for how affordable serviced apartments are nowadays. You barely have to do anything, there’s hardly any need to venture outside except for work or the occasional social gathering: it’s just a box to live in, from which things enter and leave, and nothing is known of the world they go out into – and is all the better for it. I don’t know what mechanism launders my clothes and what intelligence selects them for me to wear, nor am I interested in knowing – what does it matter anyway, as long as everything works all right?

  
I exit the room; enter another.

  
A plate awaits me in the pantry; upon it sits two slices of toast and a bowl of cereal. Carbohydrates, carbohydrates, carbohydrates; I would get more protein in there, but it’s expensive and anyway I’m not, as they say, a “growing girl”. The block of butter, retrieved from the fridge only a short while earlier, is still very much frozen, so it’s a near-impossible task to spread it onto the bread. I have no idea why I still have to do this. Surely there must be some sort of technology which can butter your bread for you. 

* * *

The mass transit system is packed, as usual. All sorts of smells assail the nose, mild but off-putting; different bodies press up against each other, jostling and pushing. The rattling of the train’s wheels on the tracks, punctuated by sniffling or brief grunts; men, women, children, all with the heads turned resolutely to the ground. The scenery passes by in a blur; details melt, turn into strange streaks of colour, a surreal experience. (False images projected onto glass walls; pleasant, light-hearted conversation; and her. We were together, she and I. We were together – once.) Or at least it would be if I looked – but I had long tired of this spectacle after watching it so many times, and was being productive and looking over a sheaf of documents instead. Novelty is, after all, lost when it becomes integrated into routine, and in the first place, there’s nothing novel about riding a train if you do so to reach a destination. It just becomes a mere method of transport, time to pass in between the work.

  
An arrest of movement; a disembodied voice announcing the name of the station; a surge of bodies; I move along.  
It always strikes me that there is something incredibly herd-like about crowds; humans are undoubtedly much more like animals than they would like to believe. Their efforts are driven by their desire to survive, and their indulgences are often of the flesh. That’s not much different from the other beasts which used to roam this earth; all that has happened is the physical struggle has been reinterpreted as a mental and social one… So much for “evolution”. (Some would, I know, disagree. But I’m not an optimist like they are.)

  
Outside, pleasingly-designed and completely characterless buildings scrape at the sky, needles exploding from the ground. I head into one of them, nodding my thanks to the guard in the booth who had opened the doors. Despite seeing him every morning I still have not the slightest what his name is. There isn’t really any point to his job either, since an AI security system would be cheaper and more reliable; but people need to be provided for, so the government protects them. It’s not an unreasonable arrangement which we live in, despite the complaints, but that’s not to say there’s any heart behind it. This consideration is just part of an attempt to stay in power: since this country is still supposed to be a democracy, deliberately alienating large sectors of the population would be too risky for a political party that’s quickly losing public support.

  
Well, not that it’s got anything to do with me.

Having located my office, I make some tea, check my mail, and proceed to drown myself in work.

* * *

One o’clock rolls around quite quickly; work, with its intellectual but unemotional challenges (though I understand some people can actually be very passionate about it), is a prime distraction from the unfortunate calling of life.

(Is this what we separated for?

‘If we remain like this then we’ll always be seeking dreams. That’s why we can’t be together; we have to grow up and face reality,’ she said as we stood outside the school gates, ‘I’m sorry.’

If this is the reality she was referring to, then it’s not worth it.

It’s not worth it at all.)

 

Lunch I eat at a nearby diner which relies on its cheap prices and guarantee of always providing nutritionally-balanced food to draw customers. And apparently that works, since it stays relatively busy despite the “meals”, served in partitioned plastic trays, consisting nearly exclusively of unappetising pastes of meat and vegetable with soggy rice or potato mash on the side. It’s all synthetic, of course, and of the lowest grade: what else would you expect from those prices? But it serves its purpose as fuel, and I usually try to cover up the taste – or lack of thereof – with an energy drink; though usually too fruity in flavour, it’s still better than nothing.

  
I return to work.

* * *

My colleagues occasionally get together and go out for a drink, and they seem to be doing that tonight as well. They claim it’s to celebrate the new manager’s birthday, but since they don’t usually do that, the real reason behind it is unknown – I suspect it to be a simple whim on the part of the organisers. At any rate, I am here drinking with them because it’s more of a bother not to join in; far easier to go along than be criticised for being unfriendly and asocial. (There used to be a time when I didn’t care what others said; no longer.)

  
It’s been several hours already – the clock is ticking ever closer to ten – and the alcohol has long kicked in: most have grown loud and boisterous, laughing and singing and talking at the top of their voices, while some have sunken into gloomy, self-pitying monologues. Frankly, it’s irritating. People are a pain to be around when they’re drunk – they lose their restraint and become incredibly self-centred and self-justifying, acting without a thought for those around them. I sip at my barley tea, even though it’s not summer.

  
The conversation, which is never worth keeping more than half an ear on, turns to romance – or rather physical relations, since that seems to be the main understanding of it. It always does. It’s the second most popular topic after complaining about the boss or the government.

  
‘And yeah, so my boyfriend Takashi said to me—’

  
‘Eh, really? I thought that she’d go for you for sure, whenever she talks to you there’d be this glint in her eye—’

‘Did I tell you about that ultra-cute girl I met at a bar last month? Yes? Ah, well, you know, I met her again and then did her that night – we were both pretty drunk—’

What a pain. These people have no idea what being in love really means.

Having had enough, I stand up – ‘Eh, where are you going, Hearn?’ ‘Ah, I want a bit of fresh air, I’ll come back’ – and go out.

* * *

It’s nice outside, away from the stuffy, oppressive atmosphere of the drinking-party; I am, for now, safe from all the deafening noise and vulgar life locked inside that little restaurant.

  
The small car-park is empty, and nobody else seems to be around. I look up; the sky is an inky blue, and as my eyes adjust to the darkness I can see the faint points of light which dot it. Stars. Stars.

The moon is full to-night.

I pull out a cigarette, light it, and breathe in, drawing the smoke deep into my lungs. I keep it in my mouth before exhaling, tasting, savouring its bitterness.

(She had more or less quit by the time I got to know her properly, but would occasionally have one when really stressed. She wasn’t addicted; neither am I. I just like the flavour.)

‘Hey.’ A voice behind me, calling out. ‘Hey, you all right?’

Seems like it’s the new guy, the one this sham celebration was supposedly held for. I don’t know him well, though he always seemed like a decent enough fellow; he’d at least get the work done on time, and hasn’t tried to beat anyone down yet. That might change with time. It usually happens. —Ah, what was his name again? I don’t remember.

‘Me? Yes, I’m fine; just wanted a bit of a smoke.’

‘Oh, I see,’ he smiles bashfully while bobbing his head up and down, ‘I see. Me, I was just a bit tired – so I thought to go out for a bit –’

‘It can certainly be a little exhausting, can’t it?’ This was accompanied by a fake sympathetic smile; I’m getting good at this.

‘Y-yeah! Um…’

I wait.

‘Actually, Miss Hearn, there’s something I wanted to tell you…’ He looks incredibly embarrassed. It’s obvious where this is going to go, but I pretend not to realise.

‘…Yes?’

‘Uh, the first time I met you, I thought you were really pretty… And you’ve been on my mind ever since. …Would you consider going out with me?’

I pause, pretend to be mulling it over. ‘Well, I’m very flattered… But it’s sort of late. Can you let me think about it seriously first, so I’m in a position to give you a proper answer?’

‘Oh – yes, yes, of course!’ He seems uncertain, but happy. Too bad. And anyway, it’s his problem for confessing to somebody he barely knows and is attracted to in only a physical sense. But this way is kinder; I’d have time to come up with more reasonable-sounding reasons to reject him with, at least.

‘I’ll get back to you later, then…’ I put a hand to my head, feigning tiredness, and start to head back.  
‘Ah! Would you like me to escort you to the station? It’s not that close, so… And I want to go home too, myself.’

I turn around and smile. ‘Oh, that’s very kind of you. Let’s go together, in that case.’

Beaming, he practically prances in and announces to the others that we would be leaving, at which point there is much congratulatory back-slapping and yells of ‘Hey, you did it! Tell me about what happens tomorrow!’, accompanied by idiotic grins and winks.

They clearly don’t realise that I’m only doing this because it’s awkward being the first to leave.

‘Are you ready?’

‘Ah, yes!’

I walk out, and he follows.

* * *

Glowing billboards and cramped, bustling streets indicate a move back to a more central area of the city.

‘It shouldn’t be too far now,’ he says, breaking the silence which has dominated the journey.

‘Wow, I’m impressed that you didn’t get lost at all; I always have trouble getting around here.’ I say half-heartedly.

He grins and starts talking, but I’m not listening.

(She would always know where to go.)

(She would lead me to wonderful places with a huge smile on her face and her hand around mine.)

(She made life worth living, if only to be with her.)

…

…I should seriously just stop thinking.

The amount of passers-by had increased, so I look around idly. Always the same types, over and over; time has crushed us all one by one and turned us transparent. But a face—

 

—a familiar face, the features unchanged, though the eyes had lost their shine with their owner’s entry into adulthood— 

—walking by me, unseeing—

—a face that I would, it seems, lose once more—

 

I step towards the retreating figure without even realising that my feet are moving.

‘Eh, what’s wrong, Miss Hearn?’ he exclaims behind me—

‘—’ I run; catch up; am close enough to reach out and touch the back I have been so desperately chasing.

The years melt away, past into present, dreams into reality.

‘—Renko?’


End file.
